


From the Point of View of The Child

by aimmyarrowshigh



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Parody, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21955798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh
Summary: This is my Mandalorian. I am not afraid of him. He is very strong, for he fights a great deal; he is a Fighter of All Things.What are you eating? Give me some!---Or, Karel Čapek's "From the Point of View of a Cat," only the cat is a Baby Yoda.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 257
Collections: Kudos





	From the Point of View of The Child

This is my Mandalorian. I am not afraid of him. He is very strong, for he fights a great deal; he is a Fighter of All Things. 

What are you eating? Give me some!

He is beautiful, but he has no face. Not having any ears, he must feed himself with dead things, and not the glorious challenge of frogs. He sighs with a low, echoing voice—and a great deal more than necessary. Sometimes in his sleep, he coos.

Let me play! 

I don't know how he became a Mandalorian; perhaps he fought someone sublime. He tries his best to entertain me.

Instead of clawed hands (the better to catch frogs) he has only hard metal gloves with bright, hot sparks for fighting. I think this is the only game he plays. He sleeps at night instead of by day, he cannot see in the dark, he has no pleasures. He never dreams of mud, never thinks of tracking and catching; he never twitches his ears to find songs in the Force.

Often in hyperspace when _I_ can hear mysterious and magic voices, when _I_ can see that the Force is all alive, my Mandalorian sits in his cockpit with his shoulders straight and we fly on and on, his metal hands twitching on the throttle. 

(Please, Mandalorian, I am interested in you. Give me that ball! I am listening to the sounds of your metal breathing. Do you have a face somewhere?)

Sometimes with my Mandalorian the Force is quiet, the poor fighter unable to find an enemy out here in the vastness of Space when it's only us two. Then I take pity on him, and find a button to press or a wire to pull, so that he might learn to hear the Force's songs and catch frogs one day. Then my Mandalorian picks me up and his metal hands are not so cold. At those times he divines for an instant a glimpse of a higher life, and he sighs and tells me strange words before I am again snug in my basket.

My Mandalorian is an interesting creature. When he stands, I flee my basket; the simple thing needs someone to protect him. I must go out again, and listen to the singing voices.

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
